


Possession

by Renata Lord (snowlight)



Series: Across Three Lives [3]
Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21557098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowlight/pseuds/Renata%20Lord
Summary: In which César doesn't want to admit that he is a terrible boyfriend. He tries to make up for it in the bedroom...kind of.
Relationships: César Gaviria/Eduardo Sandoval
Series: Across Three Lives [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555135
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21
Collections: Serenata de Amor





	Possession

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iris242x (lokiikol)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokiikol/gifts).



> There is an OC (Diego) but he only features in the first 1/3 of the story.  
> Fabio & Fernando, briefly seen, are based on actual persons from César's so-called "presidential kindergarten."

_April 1991_  
Bogota, Colombia

César had liked Diego Solís when they first met. The Kingdom of Spain sent a team of security experts to Bogota on an exchange visit, and given how the Spanish had generously loaned him a bomb detection squad during his election campaign, the president was delighted to receive the delegation. It didn't hurt that Diego Solís Guerra, the head of the Spanish delegation, was a tall and handsome man who conducted himself with impeccable decorum.

Too bad it lasted all about ninety seconds.

—Because after the customary greetings and niceties, Señor Solís turned his attention to César's Chief of Security and suddenly broke into a huge smile, white teeth bared and dark eyes glinting with intent.

"Hey there, guapo!" Diego pulled Eduardo— _his_ Eduardo—into a tight embrace and planted a showy kiss on his cheek as the president looked on in mortified silence. César had visited Spain before and could not recall being kissed in even casual greetings. What's worse, Eduardo was grinning back. 

"How are things in Madrid?" 

To César, it seemed like Diego simply refused to let go of Eduardo. Even as he released Eduardo from the hug, he still kept a hand firmly on Eduardo's shoulder. "Not bad, not bad! Busy preparing for the Olympics next year, but it's going well."

Things really went downhill after that. 

*

César sorely regretted not taking Eduardo with him on the Argentina trip. Both of them agreed that the Cathedral's construction was a top priority for the Ministry of Justice, but it did not mean he had to like leaving his security chief behind in Bogota while some impertinent Spanish playboy (because yes, César could tell) was hanging around the palace. 

He thought he was being reasonable, really. Had he not agreed to having Eduardo taking the Spanish delegation to dinner that night? Why couldn't Eduardo leave the actual liaison and exchange bits to his executive team? Surely the Spaniards would understand that the president's right hand man had bigger fish to fry. Imprisoning Escobar might not be as glamorous as hosting the Olympics, but that's Colombia for you. 

But leave it to Eduardo to argue with him and getting the upper hand at the end of it. Escobar might have stuck a deal with the government, but who knows how long would the awkward truce last? It never hurt to keep on good terms with their international colleagues. Besides—and Eduardo added this with a happy smile—Diego was a personal friend from his security training program days in Madrid. He had a favor to repay. 

César wanted to say, _fuck Madrid_.

What the president actually said was: "Remind me, which year was that? 1988?"

"Yes, May 1988. Don't you remember? I brought back that jersey signed by all the Real Madrid players! That was all Diego's doing. And the bullfight that I told you about—"

"Ah," said César diplomatically, "so he showed you a good time."

Eduardo gave him a lopsided grin: "He was also helpful with sending over the bomb squad back then, so yes, I am very grateful to him."

"That's still no excuse for him to kiss you like that in front of everyone," said César a little sullenly. Old friends or not, he knew Spanish men didn't greet each other like that.

"Oh, that?" Eduardo chuckled, "that's an Andalusian thing. I think he's from Seville or something. His mom is, at least."

"I wish I was Andalusian," he leaned in and pressed his face against Eduardo's neck. "Then I can molest you every time I see you in public."

"But then you would also have to kiss old, decrepit men like Judge Londoño. The president must appear impartial."

He shuddered at the thought: "A heavy price to pay for love."

"Are you saying that I'm not worth it?" Eduardo breath vibrated against his ear, voice sweet and low. 

_Well_ , mused César as Eduardo's hands went to work their magic on him, _you do have to kiss a lot of frogs before you get the prince._

*

It was his first state visit without his Chief of Security, but César didn't have time to miss Eduardo until he was on the flight home, pretending to take a nap while trying to conjure up the feeling of Eduardo's skin. He often resented how he had no privacy on these flights, how he couldn't touch Eduardo even though they sat right next to each other. But right now, he'd give anything to have his lover sitting by his side, long fingers tapping on the handheld.

After the plane touched down in Bogota, César exhaled and looked out the window. The familiar figure was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, and César felt his heart fluttering for a moment before realizing Eduardo was looking more than a little worn. Neither of them required more than five hours of shut-eye on any given night, and the last time he'd seen Eduardo this exhausted was right before the swear-in ceremony last year.

"Did you get sick while I was away? You look pale." After they both got into the car, he kissed Eduardo's hand and held it in his lap. He really was back now.

Eduardo gave him a thin smile: "Pretty much. Don't worry about it. I'll be fine by the end of the day."

César eyed him skeptically. "Are you sure you don't need to see a doctor?"

"Perish the thought. Tell me all about your trip, and start with the things you didn't want to say over the phone."

*

He excused Eduardo from the morning conference meetings. They would have plenty of time to catch up at night. "Stay in your office and make sure you drink plenty of water," he said. "I'll come check on you once the meetings are over."

The meetings, of course, dragged on forever and eventually turned into a working lunch. The _ajiaco_ stew was supremely comforting after endless steaks in Buenos Aires, but all the fruits on the table were left untouched because Eduardo wasn't there.

"He needs bananas, not fancy stuff like this guava," snickered Fernando when César made the observation.

"Bananas?"

"Yeah, for that gigantic hangover of his. Bananas are good for the morning after. Trust me, I'm speaking from experience."

"I can't believe you sold out your own vice-minister like that," Fabio drawled.

"It's not like he showed up at the airport drunk," Fernando grinned unrepentantly. "He had his fun, so I don't feel too bad for him. Besides, this is Eduardo we are talking about, my friend. César would let him get away with anything short of murder."

It was a jab, but César couldn't care less about what Fernando thought at that moment. It wasn't like he begrudged Eduardo's chance to relax a little in his absence—the last time he's had any amount of alcohol was probably the night of Galán's funeral. With César half a continent away in Buenos Aires, who could blame him for finally indulging in a few rounds of _aguardiente_?

Yet César had to school his face back into that amiable expression he used so often with his ministers. He looked to Fabio: "Our very own Minister of Justice, gentlemen. God save the republic."

*

When César finally squeezed in a break to see Eduardo, it was nearly evening. Once he walked past the guards, he found Eduardo's office door half-open. Visitors, then. He almost turned to leave but an unfamiliar voice, tinged with a Castilian accent, had him striding towards the door.

And there was Señor Solís, leaning over the table and grinning wolfishly at his Chief of Security. Eduardo, César noted, looked more startled than delighted when he walked in.

"Mr. President! I am unbelievably glad for this opportunity!" Diego turned to him and didn't miss a beat. That thousand-watts smile was back on. "With your busy schedule, I didn't expect being able to thank you in person on behalf of our entire team. We had a very productive time here, and your hospitality has been absolutely perfect."

César glanced at Eduardo: "We Colombians appreciate the friendship that the Spanish government has shown us."

He must had given something away on his face, because Diego suddenly looked concerned, dark eyebrows furrowing. "Please don't be angry at Eduardo, Mr. President. It was all my fault, really. I misjudged his liquor capacity and I am terribly sorry. I hope I haven't caused you any trouble."

To his credit, this time around César barely batted an eyelash. "I think he's just out of practice," said he understandingly. "It happens. I'm sure he'll sleep it off tonight."

"Wonderful!" It was lucky that Diego was still looking at him rather than Eduardo, because sitting behind Diego at his desk, Eduardo had turned a special kind of pale even as the Spaniard carried on, oblivious.

"In fact, I was just telling him——next year, after the Olympics, we will return the favor in Madrid. I hope that I will see him there...plus some of our new friends, of course."

Of course, Diego had made new friends. He was that kind of guy, thought César bitterly.

"He has his hands full with me, but we'll see what his schedule looks like when the time comes." The president held out a hand. "I wish you all a pleasant trip back to Madrid."

*

The president is going to be furious.

No, the president _is_ furious. He had left along with one unsuspecting Diego Solís, ostensibly to say goodbye to the rest of the Spaniards but Eduardo knows that look. Whenever César Gaviria Trujillo has one of his rare dark moods, _that_ is the look.

And César has the same look now—thin lips pressed down hard, eyes flashing like a coming thunderstorm. The door closes softly behind him, but Eduardo still bolts up from his half of the sofa, startled.

"César, I was just taking him to ice cream—"

The president gives him a blithe wave of the hand. "I know, nothing happened last night beyond alcohol and ice cream. Alfonso drove you back and then dropped Mr. Solís off at the hotel." 

"Okay then," Eduardo pauses, puzzled. "But you are still angry."

No response. César only reaches out and pulls on Eduardo's necktie, nothing harsh but with enough force to guide him up from the sofa. Eduardo leans over for a kiss and is granted one, yet it has none of the usual playfulness or heat. César's hand is still on the tie, tethering him down. It's just on the side of being uncomfortable, certainly not how he imagined the first welcome home kiss would be.

At the end of the kiss, César takes a long look at him with quiet, dark eyes and Eduardo's heart skips a beat.

"Bedroom."

It's impossible for Eduardo to disobey César when he's using that voice, even if it does feel like being led to wholesale slaughter. 

*

There is a part of César Gaviria that worships Eduardo Sandoval, a part that wants to make him breakfast every morning and suck his cock every night.

And there is another part of him that thinks Eduardo looks best like this—blue eyes wide, lips slightly parted, and utterly at his mercy. Eduardo had fucked him right into this bed on the night of the sworn-in ceremony, but in the months since, César had often found himself on top. Aside from relieving stress, it's also his way to reaffirm mutual trust.

But tonight feels...different, somehow.

"How do you want me?"

"I want you to obey," he murmurs in reply before taking the tie off Eduardo. "Can you do that for me, _bonito_?"

Eduardo tilts his head a little in apparent confusion but nods in the end. "You know that I love you, right?" He asks as if he is unsure, as if César hasn't trusted him with his dreams and his life.

"Why else would you be here?" Yet Carolina Sandoval's ominous warning resurfaces in his mind. After Eduardo became his campaign's security director, Eduardo's mother had visited him to see if he would release Eduardo from his duty. The tall, proud woman struck an imposing figure as she sat across from him, straight and solemn like a modern-day oracle. 

_"Contrary to what you might believe, you don't know everything about my son._ "

César pushes the memory away and focuses on getting Eduardo out of his shirt. Eduardo falls quiet, watching him through half-lidded eyes.

Before leaving for Argentina, he had left his lover with an impressive collection of kissing marks. Most of them have faded by now, but there are a couple of dark ones below Eduardo's collar bone, curiously shaped like crescent moons. For a very brief moment, César feels like one of those mouth-foaming husbands in Mexican telenovelas. 

But the red mist of blind jealousy subsides as quickly as it comes. "It's funny how bite marks change color and shape over time," he muses. "Come think of it, we have never been apart for this long."

He picks up the tie with one hand and gathers up Eduardo's wrists with another, then flashes Eduardo a small grin before setting to work. He hasn't done this in years, but the thrill is all too familiar. When César finishes the knot and pulls on it to test its strength, something electric pulses through his veins, threatening to overtake him. He has to bite down on his lower lip to keep the dark excitement at bay.

By the time César finishes undressing Eduardo, a strange calm has settled upon him. He kneels between Eduardo's legs, parting them with practiced ease. As soon as he kisses the sensitive spots on the inner thighs, Eduardo starts to squirm above him.

"César……"

"Hmm?" He doesn't stop the kisses, now with teeth. He bites down on soft, pristine flesh—he has never left marks here before. Eduardo draws in a sharp breath, closes his eyes and shudders.

"You're wearing too much."

César had left his jacket on the coat stand when he came in, but that was it.

"And you're talking too much." He gives a light flick to Eduardo's cock which, he notes with satisfaction, is responding to his attention rather nicely. "You need to have something in your mouth, _bonito_."

As if to prove his point, he unceremoniously shoves two fingers into Eduardo's mouth. It feels wet and soft and warm, so he permits himself to indulge in tangling with Eduardo's tongue a little before pulling them out.

He means to be rough but Eduardo is tight and he has to slow down. Still, he knows his lover's body from inside out, and it doesn't take long for Eduardo to start squirming again. César adds another finger but continues to tease, avoiding the sweet spot and pressing Eduardo down with his other hand.

"Please, César..."

He leans down to kiss away the brimming tears. "Yes, my love?"

"I need to—to feel you," Eduardo rasps, "take off your clothes and fuck me for real, please."

"Fernando is right, I _do_ spoil you." This time he kisses Eduardo's palms, just above there the knot is. "You mustn't get your way every single time. At least, not right away."

César quickly unbuttons his trousers and exhales in relief. He hasn't quite realized how much it hurt, but then again restraint has always been one of his best traits.

"Turn over and get on your knees."

Eduardo obeys, though with his hands tied together, his movements are endearingly clumsy. César sits back on his heels, content with watching his lover wobbling on both knees before presenting himself to him, made pliant by desire.

Normally he would prepare Eduardo more thoroughly than this, but right now the ache is simply too strong. One sharp thrust is all it takes for him to bury himself to the hilt, and he stays there for a moment, savoring this homecoming of the flesh.

Eduardo trembles underneath him, as if his knees are about to give out. César gives him a few light slaps on the ass for good measure—he is still dressed, for the most part, so he can only feel Eduardo's skin with his hands.

"César—" The rest of the sentence is cut off by a whimper.

"Consider this an official reprimand," says the ever-affable president, "for getting drunk in front of a foreign dignitary."

Eduardo makes an indignant sound but another slap, this time harder, shuts him up. César kisses the reddening mark and begins to move in an unhurried rhythm, allowing Eduardo time to get comfortable with his girth. It doesn't take long for Eduardo to surge up to meet him, however, and César lets himself go. Digging his fingers into Eduardo's waist, he pulls out almost all the way before slamming back in. Eduardo gasps but doesn't back down; he grinds back into César, drawing him in by insolent sheer will.

"Please, César, touch me," Eduardo sounds like he's on the verge of tears again. "My hands... I can't..."

"That's rather the point, _bonito_."

Yet after another few thrusts, César does take Eduardo in one hand and strokes his lover with staccato touches. Eduardo bites back a sob and leans into his hand eagerly, hips swaying.

It's too hot, but he isn't about to stop and take off his clothes now. César feels the tide threatening to sweep him over and, trying to ride the wave, pushes himself into Eduardo's body one last time as he bites down on his own lower lip.

He nearly collapses on top of Eduardo when he comes. Eduardo's cock pulses inside his palm, begging for release. He grabs it by the base and squeezes just a little too hard, however, and Eduardo screams into the pillow.

"Do you want the entire palace to hear you or what?" César flips him over onto his back with little difficulty. Eduardo sniffs noisily despite the admonishment, tears welling up again.

"Sorry..."

"Of course you are," says César. He finally manages to strip down and kneels between Eduardo's legs again, this time enjoying the feeling of warm skin tingling against his own. He smiles down at Eduardo, who is shaking like a leaf: "Don't worry, I'll kiss it and make it better."

He takes Eduardo into his mouth. One of his hands is still holding onto the base while the other is busy caressing the sacs below. He starts out slow and methodical but before long, Eduardo reacts the same way he always does: arching up and trying to fuck into his president's mouth. Still, César has to give him some credit—a less obedient partner would have struggled free of the makeshift tie knot by now.

And they certainly wouldn't be begging so prettily, either.

César pulls Eduardo up so that the young man is leaning against the headboard, his hands securely behind his head: "I'm not a monster, _bonito_. You will get to come, but not until I say so. Is that understood?"

Eduardo whimpers again but nods dutifully.

"There's a good boy." He kisses Eduardo's collar bone before returning to his task, twirling his tongue over the thick head. He is still cutting Eduardo off at the base, though, and it's not until he feels himself starting to get hard again that he lets go of the hand.

This time around, César has enough presence of mind to fish out some lube from the nightstand drawer. He slicks his fingers and starts to prepare himself, moaning not entirely for show. 

"I played with myself while I was in Argentina, you know," he licks his lips, gasping a little for air. "I pretended it was you and your cock fucking me into their shiny satin sheets."

Eduardo stares at him with glassy eyes, mouth hanging slightly open. 

"Meanwhile, you were out on the town, eating Mr. Italia ice cream and getting drunk with that Spanish son of a bitch..."

Eduardo looks like he is about to protest but thinks the better of it. César hooks his fingers inside himself and sighs contently at the familiar sensation. He can feel Eduardo's gaze on him, burning his skin, branding him with an unseen mark.

"Now, _bonito_ , I'm going to climb into your lap and ride you like I mean it. But remember, you can't come until I tell you to."

With that, César leans over for the first real kiss of the night. He gently cups Eduardo's face with both hands, knowing this boy is his only treasure in the world. He kisses like it, too, because at the end of it Eduardo looks up at him and blurts out "I love you, César."

"I love you more," he replies softly, distracted by the blueness of Eduardo's eyes. He's going to drown in them one day and wouldn't that be nice?

He bows down his head and guides Eduardo in, both of them exhaling when he settles at the base. At first he can still control the rhythm, alternating between slow penetration and satisfying grinds. As soon as Eduardo starts sobbing out his name, however, César loses it. His hole greedily sucks Eduardo in, claiming what they both know is rightfully his. He's frantically bouncing up and down the length of Eduardo's dick like a starlet in some cheap porno film, and he loves every second of it.

Endearments, supplications and even curses give way to wordless heaves and gasps. César grunts and bites down on his lower lip again before pinning Eduardo's hands against the headboard.

"Come."

Eduardo lets out a guttural cry. His body goes very still for a moment but then spasms violently. He thrusts up into César with such force that César is definitely to feel it tomorrow, but right now all César can focus on is how Eduardo fits perfectly into his body. You are made for me, he wants to say, and I will never, ever let you go. 

He only manages to say "mine" before he comes for a second time.

*

The smell of cigarettes doesn't bother Eduardo, but the sight of César smoking does.

Which is why César is doing it discreetly on the balcony while Eduardo is inside the shower. Dressed in his favorite bathrobe, he enjoys his smoke along with a cool night's breeze. There are no guards posted out in the Spanish-style courtyard below, and the night is deceptively peaceful.

It doesn't take long before Eduardo emerges from the room, wet curls still clinging to his forehead. 

"You're going to catch a cold that way," says César automatically. 

Eduardo gives him a look and wordlessly holds out a hand. It takes César a second, but he hands over the cigarette without argument. To his surprise, Eduardo raises it to his lips and takes a long drag. César finds himself staring, though with Eduardo that's hardly news. 

"So, it's okay for you to smoke, but not for me?"

Eduardo gives him a little shrug: "Remember that I have thirteen years on you."

For a while they are both quiet. César breathes in the Marlboro scent as he listens for Eduardo's each inhale and exhale. Down below them, the courtyard fountain ripples and bubbles.

Finally, Eduardo stubs the cigarette out on the balcony railing. 

"Are you feeling better now, Mr. President?"

He asks it so matter-of-factly that César feels a twinge of guilt, but he dismisses it and cocks his head as he turns to face his lover. Eduardo's bathrobe is half-open—the boy really is going to catch a cold—and César catches a glimpse of his latest handiwork. 

"Yes," he says, "but what I really want is to have some ice cream with you."

Eduardo's expression softens a little.

"Should I ask the kitchen?"

He shakes his head. "No, it's late. Besides, I meant sitting in Mr. Italia and stealing from your gelato cup when you're not..."

He trails off because Eduardo looks none too pleased with his wistful daydream. They had stopped going there after César took up the Ministry of Justice post, and now that Eduardo has to oversee over a hundred men whenever the president steps outside of the palace, visiting a private eatery in Bogota is clearly out of the question. 

"I know, I know, security protocol and all that," he raises both hands up in willing surrender, "I just…miss it. Miss having you all to myself."

"You have all of me, César," says Eduardo quietly, "you always have."

It's far from the first time Eduardo has said those words, but like every time, warmth courses through César's veins and he feels drunk. He has the urge to kneel down, to go to confession like the good Catholic that he isn't. Words are bubbling up inside of him, and even César himself doesn't quite know what they are. 

"—The waitress there remembers you." 

"Oh?" The strange non-sequinter catches him off-guard.

Eduardo smiles at him faintly. "Well, she recognized me and asked why it's been forever since I last came in. Said she recognized you on TV campaigning and had the shock of her life. Oh, and she wanted me to tell you that she voted for you because you were always such a good tipper."

"I'll take that. A vote is a vote." Besides, the thought that someone has remembered him sitting with Eduardo at their little table is inexplicably pleasing.

"They even offered me free ice cream for a whole year if I can get them a signed photo from you."

"No, no, _bonito_ ," he shakes a finger even as he's grinning uncontrollably. "It's my photo, why should you get the ice cream?" 

"Because possession is nine-tenth of the law?" Yet Eduardo's expression quickly turns pensive. "In any case, now that Escobar is finally going to prison—not that it's much of a prison, I would know—it looks like you are back in the public's good graces again."

"For how long, I wonder," the president sighs. "It's cold outside. Let's go back to bed."

"Only if you never mention Fernando's name in that bed again," Eduardo mutters and opens the French window.

César grins and hugs him from behind. He presses his body against Eduardo's back, savoring its solid warmth. "You know I'd do anything for you, _bonito_. Anything in the world."

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is officially turning into a series. Yay!  
> Iris and I are in the process of constructing a self-contained headcanon for the pairing. The fics are posted into a collection called "Across Three Lives." Mine are in English. Hers are in Chinese. We will eventually get a timeline up....


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